


Angst, Radioactive Daisies, and a Spiderkid

by emibrooke



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emibrooke/pseuds/emibrooke
Summary: When Pepper asks Peter to pick up Morgan Stark from school, he doesn't think twice. It shouldn't be that hard - right?(The story of an awkward teenage superhero learning that kids are weird)





	Angst, Radioactive Daisies, and a Spiderkid

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't watched Endgame yet, there are spoilers ahead!  
> Enjoy!

“Wait – I can’t pick her up?”

               “Mister, ah…”

               “Peter. Um, Parker.”

               “Well then, Mr. Parker. Our school records don’t have you listed as an adult who can pick up Morgan. I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait in the office while I call her mother.”

               “NO!” The receptionist’s hand paused over the phone, eyes narrowing as she looked at him. “I mean, ah, no, that won’t be necessary…um…her mom is really busy. Yeah. Super, _super_ busy. Probably won’t pick up at all.” _He’d be dead if Pepper Potts did pick up the phone – this was the one day he was supposed to babysit her kid, and things had already taken a turn for the worse_. “Can you call Happy by any chance?”

               “Happy?” Her brows raised (well, more), disappearing behind her bangs.

               “Short, kinda serious, wears suits? Should be in the directory.” Peter watched her flip through the directory and pick up the phone. Happy would bail him out, right? There had to be a permission slip somewhere…He slumped into a seat that smelled of mothballs, trying not to feel like a kid sent to the principal’s office. He was a junior in high school, after all – practically an adult, right? And he was _not_ going to get arrested for trying to pick up a billionaire’s five-year-old daughter.

               But really, couldn’t said billionaire have had the time to write a note for him?

               He glanced over at the receptionist, who was actively scowling at the phone. She set it down after a moment. “It went to voicemail.”

               _Voicemail?_ Happy Hogan let his phone go to voicemail since when? To be fair, he hadn’t responded to any of Peter’s five hundred texts either, but still…Happy was a man of character. A man of character who didn’t know how to operate his phone, the poor guy.

               Peter’s head fell back against the seat and he groaned.

               There was a long silence. The receptionist cleared her throat. “Are you just going to stay here?”

               He looked up. “I mean, uh…yeah. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” He fidgeted in the seat for bit before glancing at the clock. Geez, it was already 4:30. Picking up kids was important and all that, but he was going to be doing calculus homework all night at the rate this was taking. He made a face but stopped when he saw the receptionist looking. Her brows had disappeared again. He sat up in his seat, trying to look somewhat mature. “Can you ask Morgan’s teacher if she has a note in her backpack by any chance?”

               The receptionist picked up the phone again, and Peter resisted the urge to fidget. That receptionist lady was 100% judging him. Spider-Man. The friendliest neighborhood guy ever, who would absolutely, definitely not be kidnapping little girls anytime soon. He was the guy stopping the kidnappers. Not that she knew that, but still.

               He heard the phone click down, and the receptionist looked warmer now. “The teacher found a note. It took a while to put it back together, but it’s from her mom. Morgan will be in the office soon.”

               _Put it…back together?_ _What?_

He wanted to ask questions, but the receptionist didn’t look like she wanted to elaborate.

               Not fidgeting was hard. Really, really hard.

               He glanced at the clock again. That was a good way to pass time. How much time had passed now? Twenty seconds? Twenty seconds of wondering why Morgan’s note had to be pieced back together. She didn’t hate him, did she? He’d eaten dinner with their family before. He’d never really talked to Morgan before, but he wasn’t a stranger.

               And she’d seen him sneeze into his mashed potatoes once at dinner, too. That meant they had to be closer than strangers. They were…dinner associates.

               _Oh wow. That sounded lame._

               He glanced at the clock again. Two minutes now. Time was not flying. At all.

               The door on the other end of the office creaked open, and Peter watched a teacher walk in. She didn’t seem happy, but she wasn’t angry either…just anxious. She looked over at him. “Are you Peter Parker?”

               He stood up, brushing off chair dust-bunnies from his hoodie. “Ah, yeah. That’s me.”

               She gave him a somewhat reassuring smile, which was a welcome change after having that receptionist lady burn a hole into his forehead. “I’m Mrs. Sam, Morgan is a student of mine. I’m sorry I didn’t find your note earlier. It was…well…”

               “I heard the note was a bit everywhere,” Peter offered.

               “You could say that.”

               She handed a slip of paper to him. The note itself had been written on stationary, but the paper was so crumpled it drooped in his hand. It had been ripped into about six or seven pieces (but taped back together by the teacher), and it looked like someone had scribbled over it in pink crayon. Except maybe it wasn’t scribbles…was that a…a pink unicorn? Peter squinted.

               Beneath a few layers of crayon was a handwritten note from Pepper Potts.

               _Mrs. Sam,_

_Morgan will be riding home with Peter Parker today. If you any problems, you can call my secretary._

_-Pepper Potts_

               A frowny face was drawn next to his name. A frowny face.

               Peter tried not to gawk. _Holy_ cow. Being a dinner associate wasn’t enough to get him into good graces with this kid. People had disliked him before, sure, but for somewhat valid reasons. Reasons that involved being a plucky guy in a stretchy spandex suit.

               He looked up at the teacher, who gave him a sympathetic smile. “I tried to talk to her about it, but she said she didn’t want to. She knows who you are, right?”

               Peter tried not to get flustered. What if she didn’t know who he was at all? What if she thought he was kidnapping her or something? He thought this whole kid sitting this would be a piece of cake, but it was turning out to be as tough as a chunk of Aunt May’s toffee.

               “I mean…she should know me. I’m a family friend.”

               _C’mon, Parker. You just said you were ‘dinner associates’ with this kid. Not exactly friend material._

               He wondered if he looked pale right now. He felt pale, like all the blood in his face was draining down to his toes. He swallowed a little too loudly. “Can I talk to her?”

               The teacher looked concerned. “You can. If you want.”

               He nodded more than he should have, and she led him out of the office and back to the hallway.

               Morgan was outside with another teacher. She was sitting crisscross on the tile floor, a sparkly pink backpack propped up next to her and a juice box in hand. She looked up at Peter, and any blood left in his body was gone in a millisecond. He had to be a ghost right now. He felt even paler. Clammier. Ickier. Looking into the face of an angry five-year-old was like looking into the face of death – and he’d _died_ before.

               He crouched down before he could process what he was doing.

               “Hey, kiddo.”

               “Morgan.”

               “Right. Morgan.” Two seconds passed, and he stuck his hand out. “I’m Peter, I’m here to pick you up today. You remember me, right?”

               Morgan eyed his hand like it was something dangerous. She fiddled with the zipper of her jacket. “I don’t shake hands with strangers.”

               _Well, that answered that question._ Peter let his hand fall, sinking into a crisscross position in front of her. “Nah, I’m not a stranger! I’m a family friend. Your mom and I go way back.”

               _Oof. Maybe that sounded weird. And to be honest, he really didn’t go back all that far with Pepper Potts._ Morgan’s teacher was giving him a strange look that rivaled the receptionist lady’s. He tried to smile at her, but he felt like it was coming across more like a wince. He fumbled for the phone in his back pocket. “I’ve got a couple pictures of your family on my phone, actually. They ah…they should be right here…and uh…yeah…it’ll take awhile. They’re from five years ago…” He sat there, swiping through the photos on his phone for a solid thirty seconds. Morgan was silent.

               “Oh, here’s one of Happy! See?” He passed it over to her, and she stared at it before looking up at him. It was a campy photo from when he had just started working with the guy (and before Happy had figured out how to avoid his camera). Peter was grinning and giving a thumbs-up next to a suit clad, significantly less enthusiastic Mr. Hogan. Before he could react, Morgan started thumbing through his other photos.

               “Oh hey – no – I need my phone back now please – ”

               _Before she saw_ the _photos_. The ones with gods and Hulk-monsters and secret agents, the ones that might be a bit harder to explain. But surprisingly, Morgan stopped. Her face had gone slack, and she held the phone up closer to her face. “That’s my dad.”

               He knew exactly which one she was referring to. It was one of the few photos, if the only one, he’d had with Tony Stark before his death. He was surprised Tony had let him keep it on his phone, really. It was about as campy as Happy’s photo, and Tony had the expressional range of a robot for that picture, but Peter could remember how happy he was that Tony had even showed up. _The_ Tony Stark. Taking a photo with him.

               Morgan zoomed in on her dad’s face, and for a moment she looked a little lost. “I’ve never seen him dress like that before.”

               “Shades and a suit? Yeah, your dad was a cool guy.” Peter felt the beginning of a knot start in his throat, and he swallowed as he scooted over to her. This time, Morgan didn’t look like she wanted to move.

               “Did he read you bedtime stories too?”

               Bedtime stories? Maybe he’d heard Tony quip something about _The Little Engine That Could_ once, but that was about as far as his experience with the guy and bedtime stories went. “Uh…I don’t think your dad was a bedtime story guy when I met him.”

               “That stinks, they were really good stories. Except for a few.” She looked somewhat serious as she said this.

               The phone screen finally blacked out, and Peter took the opportunity to slide the phone back into his pocket. He fished out the note from earlier. “That’s a great unicorn you drew, by the way. Not sure I’ve ever seen one that barfs daisies before.”

               “They’re not _just_ daisies. They’re radioactive.”

               She pointed to a specific stream of projectile daisies on the note, and then to a stick figure on the receiving end. “And that’s you.”

               A garbled _huh_ came out of his mouth.

               Morgan pressed the note back into his hand. “You can keep it now!”

               _Was that supposed to mean something? Was she done with the note?_ Peter wasn’t even sure he could read her expression. He blinked at the note in his hand before tucking it away, wondering if the smudges on the paper had come from the sweat on his hands. _Probably_. _What doesn’t say inviting like a kid who can’t stop sweating?_

               He felt a tap on his shoulder. Morgan had stood up and was hoisting her backpack onto her shoulders. “Are we going to leave yet?”

               _Um._

               Peter blinked. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, we can do that.” It sounded like a question.

               They started walking back down the hallway towards the office, and the teacher smiled at him again. He glanced down at Morgan again, who was walking – really, skipping – towards the door leading outside the school. _Was there something he missed? Really. Did she like him now? And since when?_

               Morgan got to the door ahead of him and stopped, looking back at him. Her foot tapped, and he wondered where she’d learned that. What five-year-old had already perfected her foot tap?

               “Are you – do you need to be somewhere?”

               She nodded, serious. “I’m hungry.”

               Well. His stomach growled, and he tried not to make a face. That made two of them.

               A few minutes later, they’d hopped into a car he’d borrowed from Aunt May. “So…” He turned on the car, and blast of AC hit him as he glanced at Morgan in the rear-view mirror. “What do you normally eat after school?”

               “PB&J.” _Whoa_. The moodiness in that word was enough to make him glance up at the mirror again. Her arms were crossed.

               His knuckles went white on the steering wheel, and Peter blew out a long, slow breath. Was he just that bad with kids? Was there a special, selective ‘ _Kid Whisperer’_ gene that some people got that he’d missed?

               “Do…you not want PB&J?”

               “Today is Thursday.”

               “Is Thursday a special day?” He’d pulled out of the parking lot at this point, but was seriously wondering if he would crash the car from mental strain.

               “Thursdays are happy days.”

               “You didn’t seem very happy earlier.” Was he crossing a line? Was that too far? Maybe. He checked his mirror again, and she was frowning.

               “ _No._ On Thursdays Happy picks me up.”

               There was a silence. Was this why she’d been upset? Because he wasn’t Happy Hogan? He turned his blinker on, almost missing a turn. As he pulled onto another road, Morgan cleared her throat, raising her brows. “Happy says I can have cheeseburgers on Thursdays.”

               Suddenly, it hit him. The ripped-up note, the frowny face, the radioactive daisies, the near tantrum. It was all because…all because of…

               “Do you want a cheeseburger?”

               She sat back in her seat and nodded.

               Before Peter could process what he was doing, he’d made a U-turn.

“Where are we going?”

               “It’s an old diner from the fifties, I go there with my friend Ned sometimes. It’s a classic, you’ll like it.” He turned onto a familiar street. “Does that sound all right?”

               “Yes.” It was quiet, but happy. Her knees had started bouncing in the backseat, and Peter started to relax. Spider-sense didn’t seem to come in handy with this kid, but maybe…maybe he could handle this on his own. 

              

              

              

                

              

**Author's Note:**

> Glad you made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed it! If you have any thoughts, let me know - I love feedback!


End file.
